


Hot Chocolate is Sweet, But It Doesn't Compare to You

by thebestoftimes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, M/M, Winter, background enjoltaire, pure fluff, Éposette - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2052810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebestoftimes/pseuds/thebestoftimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette loves little coffeeshops, and she loves them more when cute baristas work there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Chocolate is Sweet, But It Doesn't Compare to You

                The inside of the café sheltered Cosette in a welcoming warmth after stepping in from the blustery winter winds outside. She had begun to think that the little coffee shop wasn’t even worth the walk, but she never could resist places like this: cozy, romantic feeling, the perfect escape from the loud, uncomfortable city. And the Starbucks closer to her apartment was always full of obnoxious hipsters and glaring businessmen this time in the evening.

                This new place, Java Revolution, already seemed to be her cup of tea (Cosette giggled at her own pun.) It looked very much like someone’s living room: there were squashy couches clustered around roughly assembled wooden coffee tables, shelves crammed with books-not just art books with pretty spines, either, but actual novels. Everything from _Harry Potter_ to _Jane Eyre_ to old Superman comics, Cosette noticed. There was a short ginger man engrossed in a copy of _Salem’s Lot_ by Stephen King in the corner, steam wafting up from his mug of coffee. A fire blazed on one side of the room, quickly melting the snowflakes from her cheeks.

                Behind the counter, two baristas were bickering with hushed voices, not library hushed, but quiet-so-as-not-to-disturb-the-man-reading hushed. They looked up when Cosette walked in.

                “Hello, beautiful,” greeted one of them, a man with shaggy black curls and a poorly shaven beard. His coworker, a girl with a messy French braid, gave him a shove.

                “Shut up!”she exclaimed. “Can’t keep flirting with every female who walks in here.”

                The man smirked. “Can’t I?”

                “Don’t you have _other_ people to be flirting with?” the brunette quipped. Her partner sighed dramatically, but Cosette caught the hint of a blush on his cheeks. The girl barista elbowed him aside and turned to Cosette, who strode up to the counter.

                “Erm, can I get a hot chocolate?” she asked.

                An amused smile played on the barista’s lips, and Cosette couldn’t help but think that the expression suited her.

                “We’ve been open for a week, and you’re the first person to order a hot chocolate,” she remarked, pulling out a mug and turning to fill it from a machine labeled “hot cocoa” in a cramped cursive handwriting.

                “Am I now,” Cosette replied, leaning against the counter. “So…what’s your name?”

                “Eponine,” said the barista. She presented Cosette with a mug of hot chocolate, a delicious aroma rising from the top. “Whipped cream?”

                “Absolutely,” Cosette replied happily.

                Eponine pulled a bottle of whipped cream from under the counter and swirled in on top of the cocoa. Cosette accepted the mug gratefully, still feeling the chill of outside in her bones. She placed the two dollars for the drink on the counter and looked for a place to sit down. Unsure of where to go, she read the titles of some of the books before plunking down in a loveseat. The hot chocolate scalded her mouth at first, but after a while it cooled down to the point where it was safe for human consumption.

                As she sipped the beverage, she was acutely aware of Eponine watching her from behind the counter. The shaggy haired barista had disappeared into a back room, and Cosette supposed that she was the most interesting thing left to watch. Still, it made her rather self-conscience to have this other girl staring at her, apparently not caring if Cosette noticed. Every once in a while, she’d glance up, making eye contact with Eponine. One of them would usually avert their vision shyly. Then, when Cosette was just draining the last chocolaty goodness from the bottom of her mug, Eponine called out, breaking the awkward silence that was hanging over the café.

                “I’m watching because you’re pretty, and I’m bored,” the barista said.

                When Cosette returned her mug to the counter, Eponine took it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just been seeming to check out the shy blonde for ten minutes. It wasn’t until Cosette was out the door, fighting the cold on her way back to her apartment, that the thought occurred to her to have gotten Eponine’s number.


End file.
